by B. B. Miller
“And you had to go and knock her up.” I shake my head. “Shit.”
“It wasn’t planned, if that helps. Turns out the pill isn’t a hundred percent all the time.” Kennedy slides his sunglasses on the top of his head, and I can see the gunmetal band that now sits on his ring finger.
“At least we know your boys can swim,” Matty says from behind his coffee cup.
“Well spotted there, genius.” Kennedy holds back a laugh.
I throw my hands up. “I’m being an ass. Congratulations, mate. On both counts. She’s an amazing girl and this baby will have kick-ass uncles.”
“Amen to that. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys. We just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. The press, the pictures.” He lets out a long breath, glancing away from the screen. Pretty sure I can hear the surf pounding on the shore. “That kind of chaos? That’s not what I want for Abby. Not on a day like that. It was just us on a beach in the middle of nowhere. Not even our families were there, and it was fucking perfect.”
“I’m glad it was. Three’s right.”
Cameron sticks his tongue out at me, and I flip him off in return.
“We’ll have a party when you’re back to celebrate. We can have it here.”
“I do have to come to New York to do Ravine’s show in a couple of weeks.” Kennedy frowns.
“A promise is a promise after all. That may just about send you over the edge, spending any amount of time with the asshole,” Matty replies. There’s a long-standing feud between the arrogant prick Landon Ravine and his band, but Ravine was there for the charity concert for Parker a few years ago, and Kennedy promised to do his ridiculous find-the-next-big-star show in return for his appearance.
“Don’t fucking remind me,” Kennedy growls. “Why did I agree to this again?”
“Because he brought in a fuck-ton of money for What’s Your Dream,” Cameron answers, and Kennedy rolls his eyes.
“Not to worry; we’ll balance out your time in hell with a celebration of all things love and mushy.”
“Hey, there’s nothing mushy about me,” Matty says.
“That remains to be seen,” I fire back at him. “I’ll get going with plans then. Let us know when you’re gracing New York with your presence. You guys can stay here if you want. The music academy is probably going to open around that time. Maybe we can do a few numbers with some of the kids.”
“Perfect plan. See? So much better than crashing my wedding.”
“Not even remotely, Lane. You’re still on my shitlist, but I’m willing to forgive because you knocked up one of my favorite people in the world.”
Kennedy grins. “Speaking of which, gentlemen, I have a new wife that needs my attention. Something about a massage on the beach.”
I point at the camera. “You’re an asshole, married man.”
Kennedy gives me a salute. “I love you too, Sean.”
All talk of unplanned pregnancy has me doing what I promised Cassidy I would. I’m currently sitting in the clinical exam room of good old Dr. Perez in downtown Manhattan getting the works.
Dr. Perez is pushing sixty with stark white hair and the obligatory lab coat that seems to be busting out a bit more than it did when I saw him a little over two years ago.
Physical exam over—an experience as awful as it sounds—I’m listening as he goes over the various tests they’ll be taking once they extract enough vials of blood to keep a vampire going for a while.
“Let me ask you a question, doc.” He looks at me over his wire frame glasses. “How effective is the birth control pill?” At that, his bushy white eyebrows rise. “I mean, a friend of mine just got his girlfriend—wife now—knocked up and she was on it.”
He gives me a half smile. “When taken properly, it’s ninety-nine percent effective. However, there are many factors that can impact that.”
“Such as?”
He pulls his glasses off and cleans the lenses on the edge of his lab coat. “Forgetting to take it, if you’re on other medication, if you don’t take it at the same time every day, just to name a few.”
I drum my fingers against the edge of the chair. “Holy shit. No wonder men aren’t in charge of it.”
Doc laughs. “Surely you’ve heard this before?”
I wave him off. “Yeah, of course. It’s just good to hear it from an expert.”
He nods. “They’re working on a pill for men. At some point we’ll see how well that goes.”
I grimace. “I think I’ll take a pass on that.”
“Probably a wise decision.” He passes over two cups and two paper bags left in the room by the nurse.
“What’s this?”
“Urine and sperm.” He points to each cup.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You wanted the works. We’re giving you the works.”
I try to hand him back one of the cups. “There’s nothing wrong with my sperm. I can assure you of that, doc.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But you’re thirty-seven. We’ll test just to make sure.”
I glance at the cup and back at him. “So what? I’m supposed to whack off? Like now?”
He clears his throat, straightening the file on his desk. “There’s a room down the hall that’s used for this.” He must see the surprise in my face because he follows that up with, “Don’t worry. We have men using it all the time.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better about this?” He shakes his head. “That you have a steady stream of men masturbating in some private room?”
“Sean, it’s normal. And if you’re having trouble, there’re magazines in the room.”
I laugh, pushing up from the chair. “Doc, trust me. I don’t need magazines. I got this.”
“Just drop them off with Susan at the front desk when you’re done. We’ll call you if there are any issues with your results.” At least Susan is pushing sixty and not a fan-girl.
“Always entertaining seeing you, doc.” I give him a salute and open the door before heading down the hall.
I didn’t imagine I’d be whacking off into a cup today. It’s tempting to call Cassidy to see if she’s free. Probably not the best date idea I’ve ever had.
The hall is a long one, and I have to pass behind the reception desk on the way. Susan glances up from her computer, and I hold up the little paper bags with a shrug of my shoulder. She grins back at me. “Third door on your left. Take your time.”
Fuck, how awkward is this? Thank God there’s a barrier that separates the hallway from the waiting room so people can’t see me.
The door she indicated is open slightly, and I peek in, slipping inside and quickly closing the door behind me. Fucking hell. What in the world is this bullshit? There’s low lighting, a chaise lounge in the corner with a crisp white sheet draped over the back. Jazz music… fucking jazz music playing softly from a machine set up on a table. And right under that table, the magazines that the good doctor promised. There’s a Penthouse on the top of the stack. I don’t even want to know what else is hiding under there. I don’t want to touch anything, even though the distinct smell of disinfectant permeates the room.
There’s a little sign tucked into a frame on the table with instructions. What to do if there’s an accident. Bloody hell. I rake my hand through my hair. This is hands down officially the weirdest doctor’s appointment I’ve ever had.
Right. No time to waste then. I promised Cassidy the works, and that’s what I’m going to do. I set the bags and one of the cups on the table, twisting the top off the other. I glance at the label on the plastic container, seeing my name in big, bold letters, along with some barcode underneath. No mistakes to be made then.
I release my belt, the sound echoing in the empty room. I can hear muffled voices in the hall, reminding me an audience lingers just outside the door. Not intimidating in the least. Right, Sean, suck it up. I bark out a laugh. If Cassidy were here, she would. Hell. Time to get to work.
Cassidy
>
“What do you mean you’ll have to charge me extra? We have a contract! I’ve already paid half!”
Riya takes a prudent step back from the fire-breathing bridezilla who’s practically vibrating with hysteria. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and maintain my most professional smile.
“Yes, indeed, you have. But that was based on the original design and fabric,” I say with excruciating politeness as I slip her dress back on the hanger and place it on one of the racks in the fitting salon. “I’ve complied with all your requests, Ashley, but to change fabrics now when all the gowns are almost finished goes beyond our original agreement.”
“That’s, that’s outrageous! Mother, are you listening to this? She wants to charge us more just for a few scraps of cloth!” As a pampered daughter of a prominent hedge fund manager and his wife, Ashley has been getting increasingly louder for the past hour, changing her mind about this or that adornment to her half-completed silk taffeta gown, sometimes at lightning speed. Her mother has been glued to her phone, only paying scant attention. I’ve been going along with Ashley’s whims, determined just to ride out the storm, until she demanded a complete redo of her dress and the three bridesmaids’ dresses that are almost complete.
Mrs. Pitt raises her face from her electronic addiction, quickly assesses her daughter’s red face and fiery eyes, and does the only thing she can that won’t make her the next target. “That’s absurd! I thought your customer’s happiness was paramount,” she says, rising to stand next to her daughter and looking down her nose at me.
“It is. And it seems your daughter’s happiness is going to cost you an extra fifteen thousand dollars.” I keep my tone neutral and extend a hand toward the dress forms adorned with the bridesmaid dress. “We’re talking three rolls of yarn-dyed silk taffeta at a cost of twenty-five hundred each. Plus, I’ll need to hire two extra people in order to make the timeline—unless, of course, you want to delay the wedding.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ashley snaps, waving her hands in the air. “The invitations have already been sent. We can’t delay!”
“Well, then you have two choices at this point: you can stay with the fabric you selected originally, or Riya can draw up a new agreement right now for the extra material and work.” I take comfort knowing Riya stands right behind me, a witness in case Ashley does something really stupid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a face that red.
Instead of exploding, an evil smile curls her lips. “I have another choice. I can walk out right now and you won’t get another penny. How ’bout that?”
Tapping a finger on my chin, I take in the triumphant gleam in her eye. Poor girl is punching way above her weight. “Perhaps that is for the best.” Riya clears her throat behind me, and I can only imagine the indigestion I’m giving her at the thought of losing thousands of dollars, but I stand tall.
“Wait, what?” Ashley stutters, clearly not expecting me to agree with her, while her mother’s eyes widen with the beginnings of panic. She and I are on the same page.
“I’m obviously not able to meet your needs, so perhaps you should take your business elsewhere. Of course, with only two weeks until the wedding, you’ll be stuck with something off the rack unless you want to pay another designer three times what I’d charge, even with the extra fees.”
“Now, now, there’s no need to be hasty,” Mrs. Pitt interjects; the thought of her precious daughter walking the aisle in a mass-produced dress causes her face to pale. With her ash-blond hair, it’s not a good look. “Ashley, dear, you’ve loved everything Cassidy’s done for you so far—”
“We’ll…we’ll sue for breach of contract,” Ashley blurts, trying to regain control that she never really had.
“You can try.” I smile politely and start to slip a muslin bag over her gown. “My brother drew up my contracts; you’ll find the fine print is rather thorough.”
Ashley takes a step closer, shaking off her mother’s hand on her arm. “You’re so willing to lose all this money? And what about your reputation? When I’m done with you, you’ll lose half your potential customers!”
I hum, considering. “Maybe. It’s funny; just a few days ago, a bride came in—Brittany St. John—and she’s taken quite a liking to a few of my designs.”
“Brittany?” Mother and daughter freeze in their tracks, but I continue, pretending I don’t notice. “Oh, you know her? Such a small world. Anyway, since you’re no longer interested in this, I’m sure she’ll be happy to learn it’s available. She’s about your height, if a little slimmer. It wouldn’t take much at all to alter them for her and her maids.”
At that, Mrs. Pitt finally regains her voice. “Oh, no need for that, Cassidy, my dear.” She gives Ashley a hard look that makes her gulp. She looks like she’s swallowed her tongue. “We’ll continue with the original fabric—no need for any further changes. Ashley, gather your things. We have a spa appointment in an hour.”
“Warn me the next time you do that. I almost had a heart attack.”
I give Riya an apologetic smile. “Sorry. She was never going to walk. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let her ex’s new fiancée have those dresses.”
She laughs. “The competition between women like her is worse than The Hunger Games.” She shakes her head, and then she peers at me over the dress form we’re wrestling into place. “So, what’s had you grinning like a Cheshire cat all day, bridezilla attacks aside? Can I assume it has something to do with that bicycle in the kitchen?”
“Sorry about that. I haven’t had time to clear a space for it in the storage room.” We finally get the dress form in the right spot and, when it begins to wobble, I kneel and jam a sock under the leg to stabilize it. “We need to get a new one of these,” I grumble. “I’m tired of having to prop it up all the time.”
Riya grunts in agreement. “Where did the bike come from? That purple-haired demon?”
Rising from my knees, I almost stumble at her statement. “He’s not a demon!” I burst, laughing. “What are you talking about?”
Folding her arms, she appraises me. “He must be some kind of a supernatural being if he’s been able to make you smile like that even in the face of bridezilla.”
“He’s just a nice guy.” I wish she’d drop it, but she snickers.
“Ah, a unicorn, then,” she says, and I can’t help my laughter. Considering the way he makes me feel in bed, a unicorn doesn’t seem that far off. My phone chimes with a reminder and I swallow my groan.
“Will you be all right here without me? I need to meet Kevin.”
She waves a hand and gives me a fond smile. “Go. I have some bills to prepare. I’ll lock up behind me. Say hi to your brother for me.”
“Thank God you’re here.” Kevin gives me a one-armed hug, and I laugh at his overly relieved expression. “If you’d been much later, I would’ve been forced to eat with Darcy Hamilton.” He shudders at the thought of spending one minute alone with the jewelry heiress.
“That would be interesting. I think she only eats to give herself something to purge later.” He huffs in agreement, and I eagerly accept the martini he hands me. Closing my eyes, I savor the ice-cold vodka as it slides down my throat. It’s the only way I’m going to get through tonight. This time, it’s an “intimate” dinner in a private Brooklyn dining room with my parents and about fifty other politicos and lobbyists.
When I open my eyes, I’m surprised to see Kevin frowning at me. “What?”
“What, yourself—something’s up with you, little sister.” He grins at me, tapping his lips with a fingertip.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I blink innocently and try to distract him. “What do you think of this?” I slide a hand over the skirt of my plum-colored dress. “It’s out of this fabulous stretch silk I got from Italy. The twist at the neckline works for me, don’t you think?”
“Fabulous.” He takes my elbow and steers me over to a recessed doorway along the paneled wall. “Now start talking. Ah,
ah…” He gives me a look that stops me midprotest. “It’s no use. Something is tying you in knots, and I know it’s not having to spend another boring evening entertaining lobbyists. I can see it in your eyes. Besides, you keep sneaking peeks at your phone and trying not to laugh, so spill.”
“Sweet crispy Christ.” I hastily take another sip. Sean is never far from my thoughts, whether I’m dealing with bridezillas, donors, or meddlesome brothers. It hasn’t helped that he keeps sending me hilarious texts…something about whacking off in public…and funny photos of himself and Sydney.
“Cassidy…” I look up into Kevin’s sympathetic eyes and suddenly begin talking, needing to confide in someone. I tell him all about Sean—his music academy, the band, the day on Governors Island—and then I tell him about Jack’s offer. As I talk, his eyes get bigger and bigger, and he slumps against the doorframe in disbelief. Finally, he laughs out loud, doubling over.
“Holy fuck, Cass,” he says through his chuckles, holding his stomach. Straightening, he takes my martini and drains it. “Sean Murphy is insane. And a genius. Above all, he’s guaranteed to make Mom and Dad’s heads explode when they find out.”
“I’m not sure if I want them to find out. At least, not yet.” I take my glass back, pluck out the toothpick with olives, and pop one in my mouth. Oh, so good. “Look, all this is new. New and scary and…” I chuckle in disbelief, still amazed that such a wild and passionate man has fallen into my life. “Kevin, I don’t know how to describe it. When I’m with him, I feel like one of those silly debutantes I see in my shop…all melty and giggly inside. It’s pathetic.” He barks out another laugh, and I give him a playful shove. “Stop it. I’m serious.”
“I am too. Sounds like love, Cass,” he says, his eyes serious, and I swallow nervously. I want to deny it, but I can’t quite form the words. “What about Jack? As ludicrous as his idea is, he’s right that it would kill two birds with one stone. Mom and Dad would be over the moon at the prospect of Jack Coleman as a son-in-law.”